Over Him
by allthingsdecent
Summary: What if instead of driving his car into Cuddy's house he had just delivered the damn brush?


**Author's note: So basically, if you could take every ATD story and put it in a blender, it would look a lot like. . .this. We have nagging Julia and well-intentioned Wilson and House and Cuddy secretly pining away. But even though I can't think of any new ideas, I still love my House and Cuddy, so I continue to write. **

**This one is a reimagining of the end of Moving On. I just made one tiny alteration. **

"Can I help you clear the dishes?"

Cuddy looked at Jerry like he had two heads.

In the year that they dated, House could hardly be bothered to _use_ a dish, let alone clear one. Whatever meager household tasks he did do were generally the result of an elaborate bargaining session, usually involving sex.

And here was this guy—sweet, smiley, über-attentive Jerry—volunteering to help out. Cuddy felt she needed to recalibrate her sense of what was normal.

She was having that thought when the doorbell rang.

"Hold that thought," she said to Jerry.

She strode to the front door, answered it.

Much to her surprise, it was House, wielding her hairbrush.

"Found it!" he said, like he was Magellan and had just discovered the Pacific.

"I didn't mean you had to bring it over tonight!" she chuckled.

On instinct, she took a step to the side, blocking House's view of the dining room.

"I just thought you shouldn't go another day without brushing your hair," he said. "I thought I saw a dreadlock forming."

She laughed.

"I do own other brushes," she said.

"Ah," he said, with a slight smile.

Then his face grew serious. "To be perfectly honest, I didn't want anything hanging over us. I wanted to let the closure officially begin."

"I appreciate it, House," she said, reaching and taking the brush.

He squinted a bit, cocked his head toward the room.

"Do I hear the insipid strains of awkward small talk? Are you having a dinner party? . . ."

"Just a little get-together," Cuddy said.

House peered over her shoulder, frowned.

"Who's that guy?"

_Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. . ._

"That's, uh, Jerry. He's a friend of Julia's."

"A friend of Julia's," he said. "As in, a set up? A date?"

"Not a _date_ date," Cuddy said sheepishly. "More like a pre-date. Like, a preliminary gathering to see if I want a date."

House's face fell.

"Jesus, you don't waste any time, do you?"

"It's not like that," Cuddy dissembled. "Julia had been nagging me about it for weeks and after you and I had our conversation today, I thought, 'Why not?'"

"Guess the closure has already begun for you," House said, somewhat bitterly.

"Don't be melodramatic, House. It's dinner. Just dinner."

He looked at her skeptically.

"In fact," said Cuddy half-heartedly. "We're about to have coffee. Do you want to join us?"

"I can't," said House. "I have Wilson waiting in the car. With the child safety locks on."

Cuddy tried not to let the relief register on her face.

"I really appreciate you bringing over the brush House," she said. "And. . .everything else. Today, was a big step forward for us."

"A big step forward right into the arms of Jerry apparently," he said, sulkily.

"Don't be like that," she said.

"I'm not being like anything, Cuddy. I'm just a guy delivering a brush."

And he turned and limped away.

She had an urge to chase after him, but knew it would just create a scene with her guests.

She sighed, made her way back to the dining room.

"Everything okay?" Julia asked.

"Yeah," Cuddy said, trying to blink back a tear.

Suddenly, the last place on earth she wanted to be was this damn dinner party.

"Excuse me for one second," she said.

She walked to the bathroom, a little too quickly.

Julia took notice, glanced out the window and saw House's car.

"Great," she said, under her breath.

#####

"How'd it go?" Wilson asked, as House climbed into the sedan.

"Why don't you ask Jerry?" House muttered.

"Jerry? Who's Jerry?"

"Cuddy's dream date."

"Wha . .? _What_?"

"She's having a little dinner party. All quite cozy: Julia, her husband, Cuddy, and her . . .future husband."

House started the engine, began to pull away.

"So why aren't you screaming? Punching things? Driving a car into the house?"

Wilson chuckled over the extreme nature of his final suggestion.

"She claims it's their first date. A _pre_-date as she put it so eloquently," House said.

"And you believe her?"

"Yeah," House said quietly. "She has a tell."

He kept driving.

"Where are we going?"

"I want to go to a bar, get loaded, and fuck shit up," House said. "You with me?"

Wilson shrugged in a game sort of way.

"Sounds like fun," he said.

#######

When Cuddy saw House the next day at work, he was wearing sunglasses.

"It's raining out," she said. "Why are you wearing sunglasses?"

Before he could object, she removed his sunglasses, revealing a rather impressive shiner on his cheekbone and temple.

"House!" she said.

She gingerly touched the bruise, and he flinched in pain.

"I'm fine," he said.

"What happened?"

"Turns out, Wilson really loved that brush."

"I'm serious," she said.

"Nothing. Just a little scrap at a bar. You should see the other guy. Not a mark on him. Really quite impressive . . . How's Jerry?"

"Fine," she said, distracted. She was inspecting his bruise. "Don't change the subject. What were you fighting about?"

"This goon at the bar said Joey is the funniest Friend. I said it's obviously Phoebe. . . things predictably got heated."

House was limping down the hallway now, toward his office—and she was following.

"This is about Jerry, right?" she said. "You wanted to punch him so you punched somebody else instead."

"Only a moron would intentionally pick a fight with the biggest, gooniest guy at the bar," House said. "So did Jerry get a kiss goodnight—or good _morning_?"

She ignored him and grabbed his arm, before he could make into the DDx room.

"House," she said. "What happened to making positive changes in your life? What happened to not being self-destructive anymore?"

"Minor hiccup last night," he said. "Setback no one could've have possibly seen coming. . . So when's the second date?"

"There was no kiss and there is NO second date!" she said.

"If you say so," he said.

"I say so."

She caressed his eye again, and he could've cried—not from the pain, but because her fingers on his cheek felt so intimate.

"Maybe you should get this X-rayed," she said.

"If I got an X-ray everytime I got into a bar fight, I'd be dead of radiation poison," he said.

Then he jerked his thumb toward the conference room.  
"The inmates are planning a jailbreak," he said. "Can I go now, boss?"

"Yeah," Cuddy said. And sighed.

######

After the differential, House made his way to Wilson's office to check on his friend.

Wilson had a tiny bandage under his right eye and a split lip. He looked a bit like a math geek who had been beat up by the jocks after gym class.

"Thanks for having my back, bro," House said. He went to pound Wilson's fist in solidarity, forgetting that he had hurt his knuckles in the scrape.

"Ow," he said.

"You'd think by now I'd know better than to follow you to a bar when you have a full head of steam," Wilson said.

"What part of _fuck shit up_ didn't you understand?"

"Exactly. I blame myself."

"Me too," said House, slumping into a chair. "Of course, it's doesn't help that you slap like a girl. But fear not, Wilson. What happens in Slap Club, stays in Slap Club."

Wilson smiled tolerantly at him.

"Speaking of girls, have you seen Cuddy?"

"Yeah . . ." House said.

"And how did her date go with Joel?"

"Jerry."

"Jerry. . ."

"She says they're one and done. So. . . dodged a bullet."

"For now," Wilson said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, she's not going to stay single forever."

"I know that," House said, testily.

"Do you?"

"Of course . . . I'm just not quite ready to see her with someone else yet."

"House, you're never going to be ready."

House made a face.

"Well, it's not up to me, now is it?"

"No, but if you're going to keep showing up to her house when she's on dates, making scenes, getting into bar fights to get her attention . . ."

"I didn't get into that fight to get her attention. I did it because I wanted to punch someone hard in the face. You' should consider yourself lucky a bar was open."

"And yet. . . something tells me Cuddy took note of your bruise and was deeply concerned."

"There might have been a small _trace _of concern in her voice."

"Let me guess. . .she took the opportunity to gently caress your wounds?"

"There might've been a tiny amount of gentle caressing. .."

"Funny, she's yet to fuss over my injuries," Wilson said.

House folded his arms.

"Your point?"

"The point is, House. . . you know the old expression, if you love someone, let them go?"

"I prefer the lesser known expression: If you love someone, lock them in your basement with chains so they can't escape."

"You've got to let her go, House. . ."

"Not my call, Wilson."

"_Riiiight_."

#####

She surprised him by sitting across from him the next day at lunch.

"So we're lunch buddies again?" House said.

"Is that okay?"

"As long as you don't ask me to discuss my feelings."

"I won't even ask if you feel like dessert," Cuddy said.

House gave a tiny smile, looked at her plate.

"I see you went with the veggie burger. I was going to order that, until I realized that veggie is short for vegetable."

"And I see you went for the bacon cheeseburger. I was going to order that until I realized I want to live past 60."

They smiled at each other, mutually amused.

"Soooo," said House. "Have you heard from Jerry?"

"What's your obsession with Jerry? Do you want to date him? I can give you his phone number, if you like."

"Has he called you?"

In fact, he had called several times. She hadn't picked up.

"I'm not interested in Jerry," Cuddy said.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I'm just not."

"Is he a dullard?"

"No, he's actually quite smart."

"A jerk?"

"No . . . he's sweet."

"So what's the problem?"

"Why do you care?"

"Just making small talk."

"Bullshit."

House contemplated a fry to avoid making eye contact.

"If you must know, it was something Wilson said yesterday. . ." he said.

"What?"

"It was ridiculous."

"Try me."

"He said that I'm standing in the way of your happiness."

"Has Wilson been talking to Julia?" Cuddy said, ironically.

"Her too?"

Cuddy looked at him. Took a sip of her iced tea.

"She thinks I'm not over you yet."

"And what do you think?"

Cuddy hesitated.

"House I'll never be totally be over you," she said, almost matter-of-factly. "Such is my lot in life."

"Funny, because I'm completely over you," House said, with a tiny smile.

"Of course," she said, playing along.

"So where does this leave Jerry?"

"Out in the cold, I guess."

"Poor Jerry."

"Yeah," Cuddy said.

She looked down at her plate.

"All this sincerity between us is freaking me out, House. Say something obnoxious."

"Your ass looks pregnant."

"Thank you."  
######

That night, Cuddy was at Julia's house, helping her put away groceries.

The kids were all playing in another room.

"House said the sweetest thing today," Cuddy said.

Julia groaned.

"House and sweet should never be used in the same sentence." She handed her sister a bottle of liquid dish soap, which Cuddy put under the sink.

"You don't know him like I do, Jules. He can be sweet."

"So could Charles Manson."

"Funny."

Julia handed Cuddy a carton of orange juice.

"You can get your kids to drink pulp?" Cuddy said, musingly, before putting the carton in the refrigerator.

"When are you going to finally get over him?" Julia said.

"Give me time," Cuddy said.

"Time? How much more time do you need?"

"We just broke up three months ago!"

"Three months," Julia snorted. "Try 11 years. First you spend 10 years so obsessed with him you can't date anyone else."

"_Hello?_ Lucas!" Cuddy said, defensively.

"Lucas was nothing but a poor House substitute and we both know it," Julia countered.

Cuddy looked down at her espadrilles. She couldn't really deny that.

"And then you dated him for a whole year," Julia continued, handing her sister a box of Bran Flakes. "And now you say it's too soon to date someone else? When won't it be too soon?"

"You're kids eat . . ._bran_?" Cuddy said, impressed. She put the box in the cupboard. Then she sighed. "Look Jules, you make it sound a lot easier than it is. You know what it's like. You've been in love. I mean, you _are_ in love."

(Julia's marriage to her polite, shy husband was so bloodless, it was sometimes hard to remember that it fell into the same general category as the relationship she had with House.)

"This isn't love, Lisa. It's obsession and addiction. . .call it what it is."

"Tomato, tomahto," Cuddy said.

Julia shot her a look.

"Jerry says you're not answering his calls."

"I'm not interested in Jerry."

"Why not?"

"He's boring."

"Honey, no one is ever going to be as exciting as House. And just for the record: that's a _good_ thing."

#####

A few days later, Cuddy was taking her regular Tuesday lunch stroll through the park when she heard a male voice.

"Hey!"

She turned.

It was Jerry, with a blanket slung over his shoulder, holding a picnic basket.

"Hey back!" she said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Having lunch with you, hopefully," he said, with a grin.

Cuddy looked around. Could this really just be a coincidence?

"Your timing is impeccable. Suspiciously impeccable. Did Julia put you up to this?"

"Julia?"

Jerry looked shocked, and a little hurt.

"No, your assistant called and told me that you wanted to meet in the park for lunch."

Ahhh, her sister had used the old fake assistant gambit. Crafty.

"That wasn't your assistant, was it?" Jerry said, getting it.

"Nevermind," Cuddy said, feeling bad. "Lunch would be great. I'm actually famished."

"Same here!"

Jerry spread out the blanket and pulled out his spread: Smoked salmon, a baguette, cut up fruit and vegetables, a jar of gourmet mustard, and a round of brie. He had two bottles of Pellegrino.

"I would've brought wine, but it is a school day."

Cuddy had a brief flash to the bottle of whiskey House kept in his desk drawer. He was always trying to get her to take a swig.

"This is wonderful," she said.

They chatted easily, about Jerry's work at the bank (he was a corporate loan officer) and Cuddy's work at the hospital. Then Jerry told her about the inner city youth soccer league he coached and his passion for the environment (he was president of the local chapter of the Sierra Club).

And Cuddy thought, he really is a sweet guy and I really should give him a second chance.

When they finished lunch—he folded up the blanket and neatly put everything back in his basket, insisting that Cuddy not lift a finger—he said: "Any chance this nice lunch was enough to convince you to have dinner with me Friday night?"

Cuddy looked at him. He had twinkly eyes.

"That would be nice," she said.

"Yes!" Jerry pumped his fist, in mock triumph.

Then he added: "Look, I don't know who was pretending to be your assistant, but remind me to thank him."

Cuddy's stared at him.

"_Him?_" she said.

#####

"You had no right!" she said, storming into House's office.

"How was lunch?" House said dryly.

"What made you think you could go behind my back and impersonate my assistant?"

"Like it's the first time," House said, rolling his eyes.

"_What?_"

"Uh, forget I ever said that," he said quickly.

"What even was the point of this little charade?"

"Simple. I wanted you and Jerry to have lunch."

"But why House?"

"Because I wanted to make things right."

"What happens between me and Jerry is my business, not yours."

"Not according to your sister. Or Wilson. They think I'm overly involved in your life."

"So your master plan to stop meddling in my life was to . . . meddle in my life?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I'll take it from here, okay?"

"Okay. . . Does that mean you're seeing Jerry again?"

Cuddy hesitated.

"We're having dinner on Friday."

"Great," said House—and he managed to somehow keep the smile frozen on his face until she left his office.

######

At dinner with Jerry, she found herself going on and on about House.

"Can you believe that was my _ex boyfriend_ impersonating my assistant?" she vented. "I mean, the nerve of that guy! It's like he's physically incapable of leaving me alone. He thinks he's so clever. He has to control everything—manipulate _everything_. He's such an assho—"

She stopped midsentence, when she noticed that Jerry was no longer eating his food and was staring at her in some dismay.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"Why did you agree to have dinner with me?" he asked tersely.

"Because. . . we had a nice lunch. . . because you asked," she said.

"But you're obviously still hung up on your ex," Jerry said.

"I've just been talking about what an asshole he is."

"Yeah, that's all you've been talking about. _All night_."

Cuddy looked down at her calamari.

"I'm sorry. You're right. He pissed me off. But I'm going to focus on you now, okay? Tell me more about this youth soccer league."

"Don't bother," Jerry said, getting up, and throwing his napkin on his plate. "What's that expression: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me? You obviously aren't interested in me. You obviously never have been in interested me. Call me when you get over your ex. If that's even possible."

And he stormed out.

"Jerry!" Cuddy called after him.

But they both knew there was no point.

Cuddy suddenly felt all eyes in the restaurant looking at her. Her face grew hot.

"Check please," she said, meekly.

#####

Three hours later, she was telling her saga to the Bud, the restaurant bartender. Bud, despite his burly build, tattoos, and bald head, was actually quite a gossip.

"So was Jerry right?" Bud was asking her. "Are you still in love with your ex?"

Cuddy swigged the last of her martini and gestured for Bud to make her another one in a "keep 'em comin'" sort of way.

"Put it this way: He's not an easy person to get over," she admitted.

"I have to tell you," Bud said, handing her a new drink. "I don't get it: You're a smokin' hot babe, if you don't mind me saying so."

"I don't mind," Cuddy said, laughing.

"So why'd he dump you?"

Cuddy almost choked on her martini.

"He didn't dump me. I dumped him."

Now it was Bud's turn to look shocked.

"You're kidding. I just assumed. . .I mean you seem so heartbroken. Why would you break up with a guy you're still in love with?"

"Because . . ."

For a brief second, her mind drew a complete blank. Then it all came back to her: The selfishness, the neediness, the emotional inconsistency.

"He's fucked up," Cuddy said.

"Aren't we all?" Bud said, with a chuckle.

"He's _really_ fucked up," Cuddy said.

"And you seem to be _really_ in love with him," Bud said.

And Cuddy looked down at her drink.

#####

Half an hour later, there was a banging at House's door.

It was 1:30 am. Dominika was spending the night with her boyfriend, so he was alone.

He put on his slippers, limped to the door, opened it.

It was Cuddy, slightly unsteady on her feet, and obviously quite drunk.

"Did I wake you up?" she said.

"No, I was just about to make dinner," House said.

"Really?"

"Cuddy," he said, stepping aside to let her in. "It's 1:30 a.m. I was sound asleep."

"Oh . . ." she said. And then she laughed, in delayed reaction to his joke.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her this drunk.

"Are you okay?"

"We really need to talk," Cuddy slurred.

"Let's sit," House said. He guided her to the couch. It was rare for House to be the steady one—in all senses of the word.

She looked at him, cupped his face in her hands, stroked his jawline.

"The thing is, House. . .I made a discovery tonight."

"Oh yeah?" he said, trying to conceal his amusement. He loved drunk, handsy Cuddy, but he sensed that this was important.

"The discovery is. . .I love you," she said. "I really really love you."

God, it sucked that she was so drunk right now and wouldn't remember any of this in the morning, because he had been longing to hear these very words for quite some time.

"I love your face. I love your voice. I love your brilliance. I love your sense of humor. I love how you touch me. I love how you fuck me. . . . "

"Can you repeat that last one again?" House said.

"And I think we need to be together," she said, ignoring him. "Forever and ever. . .because us not being together is stupid. It's, like, the dumbest thing ever."

And with that, she began to kiss him. He kissed back, because he couldn't help himself, because her lips and tongue felt so good, because he'd been craving her body against his for the longest three months of his life—but he forced himself to pull away.

"Cuddy, you should get some sleep," he said.

"Okay," she said, climbing into his lap. "After we have sex."

She nuzzled his neck.

She was light and even with his bum leg, he'd always been able to pick up her quite easily. He carried her to the bedroom as she continued to kiss him and tug at the collar of his tee-shirt.

"Are we going to have sex now?" she said, sleepily.

"In a minute," he said. "Who's watching Rachel?"

"My mommmmm," she said. She dragged out the "m" as though she was actually falling asleep mid-word. Her head lolled into his neck

He placed her gently on the bed and, in seconds, she was passed out cold.

He looked at her face. She was breathing steadily now. She looked peaceful, almost beatific. A single lock of hair fell over one eye.

He took off her shoes, put the blanket over her, and kissed her forehead.

"I love you, too, Cuddy," he whispered into the night.

#####

In the morning, he was sitting on the chair across from the bed, watching her.

She popped open an eye.

"Ugh," she said.

He grabbed a bottle of aspirin off the nightstand, shook four pills into his hand and gave her a glass of water.

"Take this," he ordered.

She obediently took the pills, rubbed her eyes, squinted at him.

"Ouch," she said, with a grim smile, sitting up and rubbing her head.

"Yeah," he said.

"I don't remember. . . did I. . ." she took note of herself in the bed, still fully dressed. "Did _we_. . .?"

"I slept on the couch," he said.

"Sorry," she said.

"It's okay, Cuddy. Luckily, I'm not a cripple. Oh. . .wait."

"Sorry," she repeated, putting her head in her hands.

"I'm just teasing you," he said. "I'm fine. What happened last night? I mean, that was an excellent Lindsey Lohan impression, but just _slightly_ out of character."

"I had my date with Jerry," Cuddy said.

He knew that, of course. He'd been thinking about it all night—wondering where they were, what they were talking about, if she was holding his hand, if she was going to kiss him. . .or more.

"And. . .he insisted that I'm still in love with you."

House blinked at her.

"And?" he said. It was amazing how all the hope in the world could be contained in that one three-letter word.

"And . . . he was right."

Relief washed over him.

"So what are we going to about that, Cuddy?" he said.

"Stop fooling ourselves," Cuddy said.

"Thank God," he said.

He climbed into bed next to her, put his arms around her. They were face to face.

"But it can't be like it was last time," Cuddy said.

"No," he said. He kissed her on the mouth.

"No more lies, no more hostility, no more . . . bailing on each other."

"Never," House said. He kissed her again, longer this time. She kissed back—her tongue was delicious, addictive.

"If we do it, we're in it for the long haul. Any problems we have we have to deal with and work out—together."

"Right," he said.

He kissed her neck, her chest. His hands were under her shirt, on her waist. He wanted to reintroduce himself to every inch of her body.

"We're too good together to not be good together," Cuddy continued.

"I couldn't agree more."

"Because this is a once-in-a-lifetime love, House, and I don't want to fuck it up anymore," Cuddy said.

He stopped kissing her: "I don't either," he said, earnestly. "I promise not to fuck it up."

"And I need you to clear a fucking dish from time to time!" she said, on a roll.

"Done!" he said.

He went to pull off her panties. He was so eager, he had to remind himself to breathe. Then he stopped himself.

"Your headache?" he asked.

"House, there's no hangover in the world strong enough to keep me from fucking you right now."

"God, I love you."

THE END


End file.
